


Keeping Up With the Jimenez-Jonses

by Missy



Category: Psych
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Humor, M/M, Murder Mystery, Undercover as Married, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 01:43:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7385860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gus is dragged along on a case when Shawn needs him to pose as his husband to uncover a murderer at a resort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeping Up With the Jimenez-Jonses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redcandle17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redcandle17/gifts).



Gus is, in a word, not happy to see Shawn. Not happy at all. “We are not going to attend a spa weekend as the Jimenez’s, Shawn!”

Shawn Spencer’s reaction to Gus’ reaction was, as always, to completely ignore anything he said and simply plunge along with his announcement. “Excellent point. Only we’re not going of our own free will, are we? I’m supposed to apply my clueface to the murders that’ve been happening up there, so I’m going to be going in full cop drag. While I go and blend in with the muckety-muck types who run the spa you can trade baking tips and carpet cleaning ideas with the lovely housewives of the Trubba Bubba.”

Gus paused at the idea. “All right. I’ll do it on one condition. One: we are going to be the Jimenez-Joneses, my name last. Second of all, any dinner parties I hold will be my idea, and I will serve my famous custard pie….”

“Gus, that pie killed a mouse.”

“The mouse was sick, Shawn, and it didn’t belong in my cupboard anyway! Third of all, I get the top bunk.”

“How did you know we were going to get bunk beds?”

“Because I know you very well, and you’ve always wanted to own some bunk beds in a nice, suburban house with firetruck sheets. You haven’t changed since you were six.”

“That’s the point, Gus! Never change! Change is bad, for adulthood sucks.”

“My pie did not kill that mouse,” he said. 

Shawn sighed deeply as they piled into the Blueberry and headed out to the Trubba Bubba Spa.

_________________________________________________________________

The cabin they were given did not have bunk beds. It, in fact, had one queen-sized bed, a very fancily appointed kitchen, a little sitting area with floral-printed chairs, and a duvet that folded out into a bed, onto which Shawn jumped like an oversized puppy and started bouncing while Gus unpacked, checked their check-out time and started planning on networking among the guests during the evening’s big square dance.

“Shawn, stop bouncing, man – you’re gonna make me sick.”

“But Gus, if I don’t bounce I’ll never reach the heavens!”

“Please shut up, Shawn.”

Shawn grabbed Gus by his hand and dragged him onto the bed. Before long, Gus was bouncing. And before long they were both tumbling onto the bed and rolling around, laughing like a couple of kids.

They almost kissed, but then the front desk rang down for them. 

“The hunt is forstooth!” Shawn yelled.

“That’s not what that word means,” Gus said flatly. But Shawn was already long gone, already running out of the room and trying to rush his way to the security office to get his uniform.

_________________________________________________________________

Hours later, Gus was passing out his famous pie at the square dance. He’d seen Shawn a couple of times since he’d left that afternoon, and he looked pretty good in a uniform (why Gus had that random thought on his mind as he passed out slices of pie was beyond his reasoning). He waited for Shawn to approach with his intel, but in the meantime he struck up conversations with the various women who hovered around the refreshment table. 

Shawn grabbed him by the shoulder. “Excuse me, darling – would you care to cut a rug?”

Gus’ brow furrowed. “Why are you suddenly British?”

Shawn grabbed Gus and pulled him close, causing Gus to wince and try to squirm out of Shawn’s grip. “I thought it would complement the cover,” he explained quickly. “I’m Smith Jimenez – Jones, from outer West Hufflebank in England…” 

“No one’s going to buy that!”

“Well, somebody did, because my commanding officer said my name was ‘rad’! RAD, Gus!”

Gus just groaned and tucked his chin onto Shawn’s shoulder, ending up overwhelmed by a wave of cheap cologne. “Just keep dancing,” he demanded. “Do you know anything else about the murders?”

“Oh, here’s the best part – apparently all of the women who’ve died in the past month went through poisoned pie.”

“What?!” Gus gasped. 

“Can you believe it?” asked Shawn. At which point a terrible scream filled the air and a grey-haired woman dressed like Dale Evans keeled over onto the floor, right between Betty Anderson’s cranberry crumble and Susan Lewis’ chocolate butterscotch clafoutis. 

“Tell me she did NOT eat my pie!” Gus demanded as paramedics clustered around her.

_________________________________________________________________

“Well, bad news – she didn’t eat your pie.” Shawn poked at the piece Gus had served him for lunch and cringed. “Though she probably wishes she did, judging from how much stuff they pumped out of her stomach. This would’ve got everything up faster than Mighty Mouse on speed.”

“If you don’t stop making fun of my pie I’m gonna refuse to cook,” Gus said, glowering as he leaned against the countertop. “So, deduction boy, how are we going to solve the mystery?”

“First of all, the local police are going to test every pie that was at that ho-down for poison.”

“Oh. Wait, if they’re doing that why didn’t they take my pie?”

“Because nobody ate it?” Gus frowned at that revelation. “In fact, apparently the trash was full of samples. They just took one out of there.”

“So what are we going to do while waiting for results?”

Shawn stretched an arm around Gus’ shoulder. “Well, I happen to think that we could get a lot more done right here, if we put our minds to it…”

“Shawn!”

“What, you’ve never made out on Naugahyde before?”

“Who said I’m interested in making out with you?”

“Because everyone’s interested in making out with me!”

“Shawn!”

The phone rang again, saving Gus’ life.

_________________________________________________________________

“I don’t believe you’re making me do this,” Gus complained. He and Shawn were standing side-by-side, waiting to go onstage at the spa talent show as Trixie Midnight and her Dancing Pony. 

“We only have to keep it up until they capture the guy who’s doing the poisoning.”

Gus nodded. “Jacques Les Plunge, the most filthy-minded swimming instructor in town.”

“As I managed to figure out, he’s got a foot in every bed in this spa. Turns out that the girls were comparing notes, he didn’t like that…”

“…So he worked to protect his reputation. And you figured it out because he left a bunch of notes on untraceable poison on a pad in his lounge,” Gus agreed. The music started and he dragged Shawn onstage; this was their big cue!

The actual tango involved a lot of fancy footwork. Gus almost didn’t notice the police until the firefight started, and then he was too busy squealing and trying not to die as the police took their man in. Shawn tried to make it part of the dance, but there was only so much he could do with Gus’ flailing. 

He dipped Gus, they bowed, and as the man was brought in a sweet realization filled Gus.

He kind of enjoyed making out with Shawn Spencer.

Which was why he kissed him one more time, just to confirm his feelings. And then again. And then one more time…

 

_________________________________________________________________

Back in their cabin, the phone rang. And rang and rang. 

But this time Shawn and Gus didn’t bother to answer it.


End file.
